


From The Top

by flamboyant_rat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Canon Asexual Character, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, It's all just very awkward, Loneliness, Loss, M/M, Mental Instability, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual, Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 1-4, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:33:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27748318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamboyant_rat/pseuds/flamboyant_rat
Summary: Apparently all it takes to get you out of an apocalyptic hellscape is a nasty fall. When Jonathan Sims opens his eyes again, he is surrounded by his former coworkers. Now he needs to convince them of the danger of what is coming - and right a couple of wrongs.-This is 100% based on a meme by @drawtooth on Instagram I saw ages ago. English is not my first language, but I hope this is readable anyway.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood
Comments: 20
Kudos: 128





	1. Chapter 1

It was all quite embarrassing. Apparently, all it took was half a centimetre missing from the specific stair he was stood on, and Jon was sent tumbling down the rather long and steep staircase that led down to the archives, a nasty fall that must have left him unconscious for a few seconds. When he opened his eyes again, they had all gathered around him. Martin, of course, and to his surprise, Tim, and even Sasha. 

He didn’t know what to say. His last memories before the fall were not him losing balance on the staircase, he remembered walking through the domains of the entities, a big, piercing eye that never blinked fixed on the sky, looking at everything but Jon especially. It was always watching them. “Them” was him and Martin, but not the same Martin as the one that was staring at him now. Something was missing behind his eyes. 

He looked at him like he did all those years ago, back when he was just useless, annoying Martin and whatever horrible things Jon used to call him, clutching a corkscrew and living in the archives. Jon’s confused gaze wandered over to Tim, who was still completely intact and very much alive. Limbs attached, hair swept back, a gaudy shirt on. Although he didn’t sport his smug grin or the grim look of his last months, it was replaced with a seriously concerned frown. And then there was Sasha. Jon didn’t recognize her, but he knew it was her. He couldn’t look away. The Sasha he remembered was a thin blonde woman with a sleek high ponytail, but the woman his exes were fixed on at this moment was a dark-skinned, tall person with a round, friendly face and golden glasses on her nose.

“Are you okay, boss?”, Tim asked. Jon tried to say something that might explain the obscure situation he had found himself in to the three of them, but he tripped over his own words and found himself repeating a couple of them again and again for emphasis, such as “Elias”, “Bastard” and “Apocalypse”. 

“He’s got a stroke”, Tim simply stated.

“Tim, that is  _ not  _ funny”, Martin replied and reluctantly leaned in Jon’s direction, as if he was afraid to come to close. “Everything alright? Jon? … do you need to go to the hospital?”

Jon’s forehead was bleeding. He wasn’t really sure if that meant he would need medical attention, but at the moment that was the least of his worries. But the look on Martin’s face made him mumble “Yes, I think so” quietly and defeated. Sasha and Tim helped him stand up. His legs were shaking and he almost fell again after they had let him go. Martin and he left the institute. On their way outside they passed the closed door to Elias’ office. Jon tried to  _ know _ if Elias  _ knew _ , but it made his head hurt too much. He hadn’t lost his powers, had he? No, he knew about Sasha. Maybe he was just too tired, too frightened, too shocked by what had just happened. This was the institute from the before-times. As far as he knew, it wasn’t just another cruel domain he had stumbled into that made him see things. This was the real, actual institute.

He knew the nearest hospital well. He had been here before, even with Martin, who had taken him there after the “bread knife” incident. He was familiar with the emergency waiting room, and with the brochures about stomach cancer and liver diseases and whatnot. In this familiarity, he started to admit to himself that he was glad to be away from Tim and Sasha or whatever might pose as them. He almost started to reach for Martin’s hand to calm himself down before he decided that this probably wasn’t an appropriate thing to do right now, so he kept his hands in his pockets.

They spent the rest of the afternoon there, waiting for what felt like several eternities – Jon worked up the courage to comment on how he would have died by now if it had been a real emergency and Martin even smiled a little. At the end of the day, Jon left the hospital with a few stitches on his forehead and with the certainty that this was the real Martin, but wasn’t the Martin he had known yet. Did he travel back in time? Was this some sort o pocket universe? Maybe he truly did go mad after getting a concussion and had an undiagnosed god complex or something. 

London was still there. Of course, it was. And walking somewhere took real-time and not apocalypse-time. And yes, the newspapers were the final clue: it was 2015 when his new job as head archivist was still new and exciting to him. He remembered it like a wound that would just not fully close, his first real good news since… honestly since he got accepted by Oxford. He was so proud of himself, even if he didn’t admit it, and after his position was official, Tim invited him out for drinks. He didn’t go. He prepared for his new job. What he found was nothing he could have ever prepared for. 

“Jon?” 

Jon quickly came back to the present, or whatever the hell this was, and stopped reminiscing. Martin had stood up, holding on to the yellow pole as the train slowed down.

“This is my station”, Martin repeated. “Will you get home safely?”

“Yes”, Jon nodded, even though he couldn’t even recall where he lived in 2015.

“Are you sure?”

“ _ Yes,  _ Martin. I am sure”, he said. He was not. 

“Okay. Don’t come to work tomorrow. You need to rest. Tim, Sasha and me will take care of everything.”

“I, uh”, Jon stammered. “I’m sure you will.” Martin gave him a sympathetic smile, and Jon tried very hard to smile back. The train came to a halt, and Martin got out of the cart. Jon kept his eyes fixed on him until he disappeared behind a white tiled wall. He wished he had said something, had told him that he didn’t know to get home. In a whole other sense than just him not remembering his own address.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's lonely Jon hours.

He moved quite a lot the past few years. He got himself a different flat very soon after becoming the head archivist – Elias certainly didn’t pay enough for that job, but it still was a large enough amount of money to move a bit closer to central London. Of course, he was evicted after the murder charge. And then he left London completely. But his first flat, he recalled, was in Islington.

It took a few minutes of awkwardly shuffling up and down the streets, but eventually, he remembered. Entering his old flat was a strange experience. It was a single room apartment, a bed, a tiny balcony, a small kitchen and a bathroom. A small TV screen was mounted to the wall so that he could watch the news in bed, and maybe a boring documentary afterwards. He made himself some pasta and smoked two cigarettes after finding an untouched pack on the nightstand. He debated smoking a third when he got a message from a strange number, and it just said: _Made it home?_

It was from Martin. Had he honestly not even bothered to add his name to his contacts? Even though he knew that this wouldn’t be Martin’s phone number for much longer if everything played out as it already did once, he immediately gave the soulless phone number a name. He didn’t have a photo of Martin yet, even though he had one for both Tim and Sasha each, and Jon felt incredibly guilty for playing favourites. It hadn’t been Martin’s fault that he was elected to work in the archives, after all.

_I did._

That was dry.

 _Thank you_ , he added. Not any less dry. How did one write anything other than a work email? And more importantly, how should you text with your boyfriend that wasn’t even your boyfriend yet?

 _I’m sorry for being so harsh sometimes._ He immediately felt a sharp sense of shame and would have loved to delete the message right away, but Martin had already seen it and started typing. Jon lit the third cigarette. He needed it.

_Are you sure you’re okay?_

He wasn’t. Obviously, he wasn’t. He wanted to explain everything, but Martin would probably ignore it or say that it was the head trauma. Worst case, he would spontaneously combust after hearing either about Sasha, about Tim, about Elias or about the Apocalypse. He needed to save it for another day.

_Yes. I just need some sleep._

_Alright. And remember to not show up at work tomorrow!_

Jon smiled and put the phone back in his pocket. He would probably drag him out of the institute himself. Now the loneliness began to settle in. Not that he couldn’t stand to be apart from Martin for a day, but he didn’t know if the Martin that had existed to him until his fall in the archives was still out there somewhere. He almost went back to texting him, but this Martin just wouldn’t understand. Nonetheless, he found himself excited when the screen shone brightly shone out of his pocket; a new message had arrived.

_Everything cool? You didn’t skin Martin alive in the waiting room?_

Tim. The profile picture showed him with a big, drunk grin and a fruity drink with a little paper parasol in his hand. Jon remembered that night. He didn’t tell anyone, but he eventually puked into a bin on the street. Not one of his proudest moments.

_I don’t know what you’re talking about._

_That’s the brain damage speaking. I just hope you didn’t call him incompetent for something like pushing a door you should pull_

_You’re exaggerating._

_I’m not. You did that last week_

Jon put the phone away again, screen down, and took a few seconds to ask himself just what his damage was back then. At least he had changed, right? He wasn’t still like this? He better not ask, even if there was no one to answer that anyway. He didn’t bother to answer and went straight to bed after stubbing out his cigarette. He fell asleep relatively fast and dreamt nothing but nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments under the last chapter! And sorry that this one is a little on the shorter side, I'm struggling with my motivation to write, as always. I hope you like it anyway and promise the next one will be longer to make up for it!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and maybe, just maybe even enjoying this! If you did, why not tell me something nice in the comments or leave kudos? I crave validation. Thank you!


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